


Third Time's the Charm

by Septembers_coda



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Angst, Dean is Missing, Fever, First Kiss, First Time, Groping, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Romance, Season/Series 06, Season/Series 09, Season/Series 10, Sexual Content, Slash, Sleep Deprivation, Soulless Sam Winchester, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:44:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3129998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Septembers_coda/pseuds/Septembers_coda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel remembers two kisses, and despairs of ever receiving a third.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Time's the Charm

Sam had kissed Castiel twice before. 

The first time had been when he was soulless. Cas had been in a dark place himself then, rushing toward the most terrible wrong decision he would ever make, toward his death. He still did not understand how he had come back from it, and he did not like remembering those days.

Except _that_ one. Seeking the Winchesters’ motel room, striding out of the alcove where the ice machine was, only to have Sam seize him roughly and thrust him back into it, against the wall in the shadows. Cas flinched, thinking Sam was about to strike him; he tried to raise his arms to defend himself, but they were trapped at his sides as Sam stepped even closer, his strong, hard body pinning Cas to the wall, and kissed him, his mouth fever-hot and relentless. He thrust his hips against Cas’s, grinding, and Cas felt the hard swell in his jeans press against his belly as Sam said, as casually as one remarking on the weather, “Hey, Cas. I’ve been thinking I should fuck you.”

Cas had felt what he now knew was desire. A hot eagerness, a _yes_ had flooded up in him, shockingly intensified when Sam reached with one careless, disregarding hand and groped between his legs as he said, with that strange, empty coolness that belied the heat in his body, “What do you say?”

He had refused. He had so little experience of desire, and he was consumed by his dark obsession with Purgatory, and he had been a little afraid. He had not admitted the latter to himself at the time. An angel of the lord did not _stammer,_ or stagger back skittishly, or inwardly wince at the cool laughter that was Sam’s response to his rejection.

He had never dared to ask, later, if Sam remembered that day. He didn’t know how many memories of his soulless time Sam had recovered. But Cas liked to remember it. Well, perhaps _liked_ was not the right word. It titillated and frustrated him, to the point almost of desperation, and he found he could not cast it out of his mind, unless he allowed his thoughts to stray to the second, quite different kiss.

In the years since Sam had recovered his soul, Cas had decided that the _real_ Sam would have no interest in kissing him, that the dark and heady moment next to the ice machine had been simply a salacious, amoral impulse that Sam might have had toward anyone convenient—from what Cas had gathered, he had hardly been selective in his choice of bed partners during that time.

But the second kiss… Cas closed his eyes at the warm rush of feeling the memory inspired.

Trying to extract Gadreel’s grace from Sam, he had learned more about him than he had ever expected to know—yet the knowledge was already buried in his heart. He had simply not looked at it, because he knew what it would make him feel, and he could not afford to feel it.

Not when he was sure Sam could never return the feeling. Not when he, Castiel, did not deserve for it to be returned. _The only person who has screwed things up more consistently than you...is me. And now I know what that guilt feels like. And I know what it... I know what it means to feel sorry, Sam. I am sorry._

Cas winced when he remembered the pain he’d caused Sam in extracting the grace, but other memories of those moments haunted him… touching Sam, Sam on the table, more of his skin showing than usual, the movements of his body, the way he’d clutched Cas’s hand to force him not to remove the needle… _No, don't. Don't. Don't stop._

And afterwards Sam had embraced him, and Cas, still flooded with something beyond desire, had frozen in his arms, until Sam reminded him that he could hug him back.

He had, and they had spoken of other things, and Cas had thought the moment safely over, until Sam drew him close again suddenly, and quickly, as though afraid he would stop himself, he kissed him.

There was no comparison with the first kiss. The raw, mercenary sexuality of the first kiss was replaced with a sweet, slightly awkward tenderness as Sam’s closed lips caressed his for a moment, opening a little when Cas responded. Sam released him after a moment, stroked his cheek as he stepped back, and smiled. Months later, Cas still struggled to interpret all that he had seen in that smile—the sad gleam in Sam’s slightly wet eyes, the tender longing mixed with regret, a hope dimmed by resignation. He had said no word and they had parted, and Dean had died and then been taken, and everything was different now, every chance there had ever been, perhaps, lost.

With his grace diminishing nearly to nothing, he had been of little use to Sam—how bitterly he regretted Sam’s shoulder injury, that he had been able to do nothing to prevent or heal it!—and he knew Sam’s need to find and save his brother had obliterated every other thought in his mind. So when he walked into the Bunker today, he had thin hope that Sam would spare him even a bit of his attention, let alone his affection.

He was worried about Sam. He had never seen him so thin, so vulnerable; bags under his eyes, stubble on his cheeks and his arm in a sling. He knew he rarely slept and barely ate. Cas’s heart ached for him, for both the ill-fated Winchesters, saviors of the world who had been rewarded for their bravery with suffering, for their sacrifice with yet more sacrifice. He wished there could be something more for them, something simple and good—any reward, however small. Instead, Sam was alone and desperate, and Dean was perhaps gone forever.

“Hey, Cas.” Sam’s voice interrupted his musings. Cas realized he’d been standing at the door to the room in the Bunker, gazing at Sam, who was lost in research, several books and papers and his own notes littering the table before him.

Sam had barely glanced at him, but now he looked up. Cas wondered what it was on his face that had caught his attention.

“You OK, Cas?”

He wasn’t, not even close, but he had learned that one did not say such things. “Yes. But you, Sam?”

“Fine. Just… wish I could find something. A lead, anything.”

“You are not fine.”

Sam didn’t deny it. He nodded, looking down at the littered desk. “You either,” he said after a moment, and looked up, meeting Cas’s eyes.

“How is your shoulder?”

“It’s healing. I’ve had worse.” Sam stood up and walked around the table to stand with Cas. “Look, don’t worry about it. Dean and I spent most of our lives without an angel to heal us every time we got bashed around. And believe me, there were plenty of times.”

“It will heal better if you get proper rest.” His eyes scanned Sam’s face, its pallor and the lines that had not been there before, and before he could stop himself, he touched it, passing his hand gently over his forehead and resting it on his cheek for a moment.

Sam stood still under his touch, a quizzical look eclipsing a brief, secretive glimpse of memory. “You can’t heal me, can you?” he asked, puzzled.

“No,” Cas said, and his voice came out husky and tremulous, and Sam’s quizzical look melted into certainty and _presence_ —he was more _there,_ more immediate than Cas had seen him in weeks, and his gaze did not leave Cas’s.

“Do you remember…?” Cas began hesitantly, and stopped when Sam stepped close, taking Cas’s face in his good hand, and leaned down, his face inches away.

“I remember,” Sam whispered, and kissed him.

It was different from both the other times. It was more, and it didn’t end. Sam kissed him and kissed him, desperation laced with sweetness, rousing a deep, erotic need in Cas that Sam felt, and expanded, and poured back into Cas. They were wrapped in each other’s arms, and then Sam was pushing him down on the nearest couch, and undressing him, and touching him as he had when he’d kissed him when he was soulless, but so much more tenderly that Cas’s heart swelled, unable to contain it, and he cried out softly, and Sam crushed him close with his good arm.

“Why did we wait so long, Cas?” he asked, as they both fumbled to undress him around the encumbrance of the sling.

“I… I don’t know,” Cas hissed breathlessly, overwhelmed by the feel of Sam’s skin against his. “The first time, I couldn’t. The second time, perhaps you couldn’t.” He paused on a strained exhalation, mouth opening and eyes closing helplessly as Sam pressed his knees back, settling his hips between them.

“Third time’s the charm,” Sam whispered.

~* * *~

Afterward, Cas had coaxed Sam, who was sweating and trembling, into bed, entreating him to sleep. Sam had protested, briefly and almost feverishly— _I have to find Dean, Cas. I can’t lose him. God knows what’s happening to him_ —but finally surrendered when Cas covered him warmly and slid into bed with him, wrapping him close in his arms.

He brushed kisses across Sam’s face, kissing his eyelids until they fluttered closed, murmuring tender words until Sam sighed into the sleep he desperately needed. As he slipped away, his lips moved against Cas’s, and he breathed, barely audibly, “Stay with me.”

“Forever,” Cas answered.

~ The End ~


End file.
